The City Runner
by notinbutsmiles
Summary: Despite there already being a book 3 and 4, this is a new sequel to the Maze Runner - we will find out how the story goes as i wing it :)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Pssst."

Moist breath penetrates my personal bubble

I choose to ignore it

"Heeeyyyyy."

The warmth shoots in to my ear

A shiver shakes my existence

I slide my arm underneath the pillow and roll over on to my stomach

"PSSST."

Now my shoulder pulls back unexpectedly

I bury my face further in to the borrowed softness

_Nobody is home! _

Maybe It will go away

"THHHOOMMMAA-"

Or not.

"-AAAAASSSS"

It obnoxiously whispers my name

I clamp my hands on to the edges of the pillow

Hoping this inhumane creature will let me sleep

"Wake up WakeupWakeup!"

But I can't manage to block out the high-pitched whines

_Five more minutes, _I beg inwardly, hoping, if it is Teresa, that she will get the message

"TTTOMMMBBUSSSS."

I guess it's not her.

"TTTHHO-"

I shoot up in my bed. "Slim it!" I bark, as I almost slam my head against a shadowy figure. The figure retreats just a smidge, and I hope that my sleep-heavy eyes and thin-lipped grimace portray the idea that I want it further away than just a smidge.

"Seriously?" I continue groggily. Though, noticing the occupied beds around me shifting in agitation, I lower my voice. That doesn't stop the dark glare I am giving that I hope the shadow sees.

The smidge becomes a midget as the shadow dares to inch back towards me. It looks like it is dancing some tribal tribute, readying itself to sacrifice me or something.

To my dismay, It completely ignores the idea of personal space and leans against my bed. The bed shakes. I can feel the shadows breath creepily warming my neck. I am too annoyed to be wary of its mysterious identity.

"Thomas," it says again, this time quieter and more urgent. How does it know my name?

I see a glint of blue staring intense daggers at me. My fingers stealthily claw beneath the covers, searching for the sharpened piece of wood I had managed to cultivate being ushered to bed with the others Gladers- er, ex-gladers now?

My eyes are finally beginning to adjust.

Without much warning, just as my fingers clasp around my make shift stake, the shadow melts in to a young blue-eyed boy. A boy who is dancing in the middle of the night, in front of _my_ bed, with his hands in front of his pants.

My grip on the stake loosens, but remains steady beneath the blanket that is draped over me.

I realize dimly that he must be one of the younger boys who were forced to participate in The Maze; one I didn't much interact with. I can't think of a name to match his fair skin and dark hair. Jefferson? Chardonnay? Elvis? I dunno know. Huh, I remember Elvis but I can't remember my own parents?!

"Dude," the kid before me drawls.

Can't a kid get a full night sleep? I wonder.

But I know the answer to that. No Thomas, it is impossible. Sucks for youuuuu! I loathe that little voice in the back of my mind right now.

"What's wrong with you Shuck?" I ask aloud, thinking he has lost his mind due to the past couple days. I mean he probably lost a lot of friends to get here. And he found out his name is a fake one given to him by some group of psychotic petifiles seeking to "help" the world.

Everyone is somewhat messed up now a day.

"Dude, Thomas," the kid says seriously, making me wonder if he really has an emergency to tell me.

For dramatic effect or petrification or what I have no idea, the kid pauses before speaking again. Every second feels like a second of me not getting rest. I glance around us skeptically. Nope, no boogie men or petifiles; no bombs exploding or Greivers; Just piles of blankets gently rising and falling as the exhausted bodies beneath sleep. Desire jeers at my eyelids.

"Come on Shuck," I say, "Spit it out." I catch myself off guard for a moment. When did I become a Newt?

Another moment passes. I make like I am going to cuddle back in to bed, because I am.

"I really gotta pee," the kid confesses quickly to stop me. His wiggles turn in to uncontrollable jiggling as he speaks.

My eyes grow wide and I have to force my chuckle in to a throat-scratching cough to save him further embarrassment. I'm sure if the lights were on, I would see his cheeks as red as the inside of the Blood house. Although, if the lights were on (Or the candles, or the sun, whatever it is they use here) he would have already been to the bathroom and I would be asleep. I shrug the thought away.

"Aren't you a little big to ask for-" I begin.

"I tried man, I swears. I searched all over for a bathroom but-" his legs shake beneath him as if he might give way. "-I can't find nothin'. "

"Alright," I reply gruffly, feeling worse for the kid than myself. Though I do pity myself quite a lot. Couldn't I have been woken up for a reason more important, like a hoard of Grievers was barging in or something?

I rub irritably at my eyes, sigh, and hoist myself up and off of my nice, cozy, though over-used and seeming-to-never-have-been-washed, sweet, sweet bed with an achy groan.

My muscles still ache. You know, half a nights of sleep can't cure everything. But a guy can dream.

I can't believe this, this teenager in front of me doing the potty dance in the near pitch black. But I can't just leave this kid wandering around on his own until he eventually klunk's himself. Though the rest of the boys would find that funny, I just couldn't think to do that.

"Come on." I beckon the kid with one hand, unsure if he can see it, while the other hand, with my stake in my grip, guides me forward bedside to bedside like a blind person utilizing their walking stick. I can hear the kid's heavy breathing behind me, and the sound of his wiggling as his feet are forced to shuffle across the harsh concrete ground. I sigh again.

"I think we're almost there," I try to say encouragingly, though I have no idea where the bathroom is. I don't even know where my bed is now as we trek down the hall of black and blue beds and towards a doorway. I think I counted six beds while on our journey, but I can't quite remember because my mind is still trapped in a daze. The stake clanks against wood. A shadow nearby stirs irritably. Make it past seven beds? I shake my head in disbelief.

"Ohhhhh man," the kid whispers, his voice is like a gunshot in the middle of silence. "I am ready to burst! Buggin' bladder, I don't think I can hold it!" His hips begin to sway more aggressively than before.

"You have to," I say nervously. Ah man, I do not want to have to help this kid find a new pair of pants. "It's okay. Just- uh," I mutter, unable to conjure up something to say. I start to tap my weapon more quickly in front of me, as if that will help rather than wake everyone up and cause an uprising.

"Just, uh,-" I start doing a little dance myself as I continue forward at a quicker pace. I don't have to pee though. I just don't want this kid to.

Uhhhhh, come on say something I chide myself.

Eventually, as the bare feet behind me start to slow, I spit out, "Pretend some Greivers are chasing ya and you have no time to stop and if you even hesitate to let your bowels loose you are a dead Glader." I'm not sure if he heard that or not it rushed out so fast.

I guess so because the shuffling became quicker and more defined. He stopped talking as he concentrated on the invisible Griever chasing us.

A bump in to three different beds, two groans of sleepy annoyance, and a curse later I see a light glowing like heaven before us.

I stop in my tracks just before the grimy curtain that is keeping the room behind it a secret. "All yours buddy," I tell the boy as I place my hand in the middle of his back and shove him through the curtain.

His head peeks out though before I can lean against the nearest wall and close my eyes. A visible blush rises to his face as he speaks. "You wouldn't mind waitin' would ya?" He asks softly.

I stare at him for a moment. His brows are furrowed in worry and he is gnawing on his lip. His fingers are tying themselves in the curtain and then untying themselves again and again as he allows his body to lean against the cloth. I forget these kids are just that, kids.

"Ah, Shuck." I let loose a smile and ruffle his bed ridden, stressed out hair- if hair could look stressed. "Of course."

He gives me a mucky, but toothy, grin of relief and then disappears once more behind the curtain.

Finally, I can lean against the cool, brick wall wit hout . . .any . . disturb . . ance .

_Thomas?_ Teresa's voice explodes in my mind without warning. I nearly topple over to the ground, but find my stake to be handy in balancing me back against the wall.

Instinctly I let out a verbal "gosh!" but, realizing that no one around me is awake (Considering Teresa was put in a different room because she was female), I close my eyes and focus on speaking inwardly.

_You scared me to death_, I scold, though a smile plays at the edges of my lips.

_Sorry, _she says, though I can almost hear her smirk._ I just woke up and got this weird feeling that you were up too. Everything okay? _

_Ya. Just uh-_

I pause mid mind-meld and glance at the dim bathroom light. The curtain billows ever so slightly.

_-Just helping a scared kid,_ I decide to finish.

_Oh. Okay. _A quiet moment passes. _ I don't know, something feels weird still. _

_Well, _I begin_, we just found out our names aren't really ours; we watched a bunch of people die- _I stop. My throat threatens to constrict but I shake my head, hoping to rid myself of just a few hours ago. I try to continue, pretending nothing has happened, though somehow I know Teresa has already caught me- _we are now sleeping with all that is left of us, in a place that is definitely not ours and definitely different than what we have lived through the past couple of . . . periods of time. _

Teresa's laugh chimes in my head. I can't help but think of how nice a sound it is.

_Ya, I guess your right. Feeling weird is probably normal right now, _she says_. _

I let my head fall limp against the wall. Apparently this kid is constipated, or he just can't figure out how the toilet works. Either way, I have the inkling that I will be standing here for a little while.

_Do you think these people will help us? _Teresa asks quietly, as the silence of the boys room tries to lull me to sleep.

I open my eyes to survey the room of Gladers. This is all that is left of us; a room full of overly exhausted children. I rub at my face like a small kid.

_I don't know, _I begin. _I hope so. But I think we shouldn't depend too much on others. Just stick as a team right now. We don't know what is out there. We only knwe each other. _

_Good that, _She agrees.

I smile and let my eyes droop closed again. _When did you start speaking Glader? _

_It just kind of attaches itself to you, _she justifies defensively.

_Ya, ya whatever you say. I think that you secretly like it, and want to be a part of- _

_CRASH! _

My body jolts aggressively away from the wall. My eyes shoot open. "What're you doing Shuck?" I yelp in to the curtain.

"That wasn't me!" Terror leaks from his voice and sinks in to my bones.

Wide-awake, I stand inside the doorframe of the bathroom in order to get a panoramic view of my surroundings. A memory from my past stirs in the back of my mind: something about being safe underneath doorways.

CRASH!

_THOMAS? _Teresa shouts in my mind, just as 25 (ish) shadowy heads spring to life from the beds at the same time. 25 voices shout.

"What the hell?"

"Stupid Shuck, I was sleeping!"

"GRIEVERS?!"

"HEY what's the big-"

"I was dreaming so nice, about a girl and-"

One voice though catches my full attention through all the commotion.

"THOMAS."

I start to think in my mind to Teresa, but after a second I realize that a boy in the flesh has called my name. My gaze easily finds Newt as he jogs up to me, already armed with a post from under his bed.

"What the-" He starts.

I shrug helplessly. "No idea."

"Maybe-"

Hands clasp my waist from behind and immediately I twist around. Without thinking, my hands are up and I am readying to slam my fists into the face of the enemy.

Just before fists fly though I look down to find the kid's face gaping up at me in fright.

"Sorry," he mumbles in to my shirt. "I just-" but the rest was garbled.

"Come on-" I try to say soothingly, but Newt cuts me off.

"No time for babies Henry, get up and grab hold of something to arm yourself!"

Henry stumbles away into the crowd of riled up Used-to-be-Gladers, his pants still untied and dangling too low on his hips.

Another crash, this one vibrating the mattresses in their frames.

The boys begin to scramble. Chaos rings in the tightly packed room. My eyebrows rise in bewilderment.

"Grievers?" I ask Newt.

The "leader" shrugs non-chalantly, but by the way his eyes dart around the room, never lingering on one thing for longer than half a second, I know he is just as wary as I am.

I try to mull over what the threat could be, but a voice in my head drowns out all sound.

_Thomas! Thomas where are you? Boys are everywhere, I- _

"Thomas!" Teresa's body flings towards me, and she nearly leaps in to my chest with the force of her running. But just before reaching Newt she pauses, adapts a professional face, and clutches her right hand tighter around a Glader knife she had somehow come by.

"Here," she says confidently, though I can see that her shoulders are hunched with tiredness like the rest of us.

Another quake rocks the room, causing us to wobble on our feet. I grab hold of the wall with one hand to steady myself, and instinctly my other hand drops the stake to grab hold of Teresa's arm. Newt gives us a subtle eyebrow raise as he grabs a nearby bedpost. I chose to ignore it, at least for the moment.

"Alright, well we can't just sit here like shucks and get killed," Newt states as the shaking stops and he releases his tight grip. I nod and gently let go of Teresa's arm. She thanks me, and then watches Newt and I, waiting for orders.

Newt spins around to face the clamor that has transformed the sleepy hollow in to a frantic battlefield.

"Alright!" Newt yells hoarsely over the crowd of darkness. "ALRIGHT!"

The boys pause in the middle of whatever it is they are doing- crafting weapons, armor, buddying up, hiding under beds or covers, tripping, scavenging for weapons they had brought with them from the Glade . . .

"Calm down ya shucks," Newt continues. "We have been through a pile of Greivers haven't we? What can't we face?" With that, he raises both his hands as if he is about to let lose a battle cry, his bedpost clutched between both hands like a trophy. A few Gladers nod uncertainty. Some cheer in confirmation.

I don't notice that Teresa is beside me until she whispers, "a false sense of invincibility? Bad idea I think."

I continue looking forward, but whisper back in her direction. "They're boys. They need a false sense of invincibility."

She grunts and bites at her lip. "Maybe."

"Besides," I add. "They know they aren't really invincible, it's just nice to hear it."

"We humans do enjoy the simplicity and idealism of a lie every once in a while don't we?"

I dare to look at her. She dares me a glance in return and shrugs.

I open my mouth to ask her where such a thought comes from, but before any words can come out a grown up rushes in to the room.

All eyes turn to the frazzled looking woman who remains beneath the doorway with wild eyes. She has faded brown curls and wide, green eyes.

"Children," she nearly whispers. No one makes a sound. "Hide."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Teresa is swept away from me before I can grab a hold of her. She lets out a yelp of surprise and I can't help the concerned way her name falls out of my mouth as I am pushed against the wall with a harsh thud. Before I know it, her flowing chocolate hair is sucked away between two kids and I can't do anything to snatch her back.

Moving bodies are scattered everywhere, running, diving for the ground, pushing their way through other shadowy lumps and obstacles, desperate for a place to hide, desperate for safety from the unknown.

I force my body to stick to the hard wall and keep still as chaos sprints in all directions. Newt has somehow remained nearby, however his expression is a bit dazed as he clutches his left arm. What appears to be red food coloring dribbles from a scratch in his skin. He must have gotten clipped when the outbreak started.

In a matter of seconds, half the boys have disappeared; first come first served, hidden deep within nooks and crannies, behind crates, under beds, some trying to share an edge of the toilet seat to stand on. The other half continues it's search for sanctuary with a heightened fever.

"Newt," I bark, as I stretch my spine further up while a couple of Gladers rush by. Newt doesn't seem to hear me above their exclamations of worry.

"Greivers?" A kid asks another in a high-pitched whimper.

"Can't be. We left them behind!" The other says uncertainty. "Must be worse than Greivers tho if the adults are scrambling too."

"Worse?! Oh no, oh no, no, n-" their voices disappear as the other grabs at the kids sleeve and drags him down out of my view.

Suddenly, Newt and I are the only one's left. The transition between chaos and nothing is so quick that my head begins to stir with pain. My heart begins to pound. A silence beyond deafening ensues so that I can hear each squishy thud my heart gives. Why do we have to hide? And why aren't I hiding?!

The room is barren, aside from the occasional stray hair bobbing up or eye peeking through a small crack. I shallow my breathing and wonder where the hell Teresa has gone. I hope she has hidden with Minho, or someone just as trustworthy.

I turn my head towards Newt and press my cheek against the wall. "Newt," I mutter, not daring to speak louder in case the cause of all this stoops near.

The seemingly empty room shutters, as if the building is sick with the flu and needs to cough. The wall vibrates my cheek and sends shivers up my spine. I tighten my grip on my stake, reassuring myself that I have a weapon, that I am not completely defenseless.

Newt finally meets my gaze, though I don't think it is my voice that has snagged his attention, rather the shaking that follows like an aftershock.

He brushes his hands on his pants and straightens his shirt as if preparing for an interview. The cut on his arm looks minor, a baby cut, and he seems to have chosen to ignore it. He has faced worse after all. Much worse.

"Earthquake?" He grunts.

I shake my head, a memory playing at the edges of my mind. "No," I say carefully, as I try to egg the sudden wisp of memory on. It feels like a cloud in the back of my mind, a heavy cloud full of water that yearns to rain down on me."For some reason I know I have been through one of those." Someone clutching me tightly as we gather beneath a table, me clutching a stuffed elephant just as tightly as the world "dances"; that is what she had told me. But who was the she? "No," I continue to tell Newt distractedly; amazed at the way the memory had swept in to my mind as I concentrated harder on it. "Earthquakes feel. . They feel like the earth is dancing under our feet. This feels like-"

"Like a rather large, Griever-related-looking creature has chosen to shake a toy house," Newt finishes quietly.

"Ya, " I say in surprise. The memory slips away at that thin moment of opportunity. I silently curse at myself. "Newt I think we can get our memories-"

But Newt isn't paying attention to me anymore. His eyes are wide eyed and trained on the dorm doorway from which the woman had come and gone. His breathing is coming out in shallow huffs.

"What are you-" I begin, as I slide my body around to look behind me.

I don't need to finish my question. Newt had already told me what is hunched in the doorway.

"Holy-"

The at least 8 foot monster screeches, a hefty, deep throated, primal screech that lasts for what feels like too long. My hands go to press hard over my ears, but still my ears scream in protest, they beg me for the terrible sound to stop. Spittle flies from its ugly, purple spotted, gray gums and some of the warm acidic looking liquid reaches my bent elbows.

"GAH!" I yelp, as the spit makes contact with my skin and bursts in to an angry florescent yellow color. I look to Newt with concerned eyes and shout over the monster's grumbling. "It's acid! It burns- his spit burns!"

Newt gapes at me for a moment, before turning his eyes back to the Griever-Cousin. A whimper arises from somewhere nearby and my eyes flicker around the deadened room. I find a pair of light blue iris's staring at me from under a bed mattress with terror oozing from their pupils. Henry.

"We need to distract this thing," I mumble from half of my mouth to Newt. His eyes travel across the room and he nods in understanding.

Giving me one last glance, Newt swings his bedpost in front of his chest and moves forward towards the doorway, towards the giant like creature that reminds me of a troll. A troll with four arms, two pairs of sharpened claws, two pairs of sword like hands, six eyes, bubbling warts that spew clouds of black, and an obnoxious, moldy grin that makes me want to puke that is.

I close my eyes for a moment and almost wish that we were facing a Griever instead. But I brush the thought away as I grip my stake with determination and utter horror.

I meet up with Newt between two rows of beds and fall in to step beside him. Slowly we inch closer and closer, and as we do, a smell so putrid that I have trouble not keeling over and gagging penetrates our systems. Newt's nose crinkles up as if he can block out the corpse like smell, but we continue forward anyway, through the jungle of tossed blankets and pillows and what is left of our belongings. I can't believe that just thirty minutes ago everyone was asleep and I was ushering a kid to the bathroom.

The creature eyes us like we are ants, but he doesn't make way to strike or move in any way. His body simply rises and falls like a huge boulder as he breaths. My muscles tense with anticipation. What is it waiting for? Is it going to stand there until we are beneath its bulbous, fat body and then simply gobble us up like a late night snack? Or will it grab us, take the leader of the Glader and the supposed "hero" away and leave all of these kids alone to fend for them selves? Where would it take us? Weren't all the Maze psychos' dead? Who controlled this creature? Shouldn't he be de-commissioned like the Greivers?

One of Newt's hands shoots out and gently hits my chest in a stopping motion, stopping my millions of questions as well. We pause. The creature stares at us calmly. We stare right back at it, warily.

"Sup?" I say in to the quiet.

The monster grunts, and I could swear his lips twitch upward, as if it is laughing at my informalities. It shifts its weight on to the left hip as if waiting for us to indulge in a conversation.

"How. . . are . . you . . doing?" I continue meticulously. The creature tilts its head curiously, as if taking in what I am saying. Not set to kill but stun? I think punnily. Unlike the Greivers had been. Newt nods subtly in my direction, beckoning me to keep going.

"I'm pretty famished," I state. "Not of food, don't get me wrong, but of sleep. You know, when a kid wakes you up so you can take him to the potty and then-"

My eyes flick towards Newt. In my peripheral vision I can see his feet carefully shuffling forward.

"-A giant, mysterious, but rather handsome," I wink, "Mons- er- specimen, decides to stop by for a visit, man you can guess that I would be famished."

I try to relax, but it is hard to let my shoulders lose and my stake fall limp when the breath of an unknown thing is threatening to choke me. "Anyway," I sputter with considerable effort. "Do you come around here often?" I feel stupid, like a fifteen year old who stills really believes that Mickey Mouse is living instead of a person in a suit.

"ANY-WAY," I rant, proud of my improve skills. Thank you Henry! "Nice weather huh? I mean I haven't been outside here to really know but I would say-"

"GO!" Newt shouts above my forecast. I am not quite sure what he means by "go", but I tumble to meet him in front of the monster that is beginning to stir with a flash of angry in its eyes.

Newt sends his post straight for the chest, but not being sharp what so ever, the wood plank hits the monster with a solid plunk and clatters to the ground helplessly. It twists its head sideways and looks at Newt. My brows knit together worriedly, but I don't allow myself a second to ponder what would happen if the creature grabbed a hold of Newt and bit off his head.

"Hey!" I yell, with a wave of my hands. The creature turns his giant head as if it needs oiling. He stares at me with rage filling in its black filled eyes, and I can't help but want to squirm beneath its gaze. Obviously being hit with a stick, no bueno. "Friend," I say cheerfully. "Why do you look so mad?"

It grunts and I swear one of its tentacle like thingy's aims to point at Newt.

"Him?" I say. "Nah, he's a friend too."

It sniffles uncertainty, trying to decide whether to believe me or not. Oh I pray that it does believe me- Allah, God, Satin. . Scratch that . . Jesus, the guy next door! Anybody!

It's eyes narrow. Did I think something wrong?

The creature opens its mouth and begins to suck in a great, deep breath. It holds it in for a moment, its arms doing the wave as they intake the oxygen.

And then my ears are dying again. The creature screeches, this time more high pitched, directly in my ear, and my eyes water from the sudden impact. I wobble on my legs for a moment, and close my eyes from the dry wind. A piece of spit jumps on to my forehead and I swat at it as it the burning sears in to my muscles, and maybe even my bones.

"No more chatter," Newt shouts while swatting away at his own face. The creature finishes his song. "timetogo." And with that, Newt roughly snatches my arm and pulls me down to the ground. It takes me a second, but I realize what he is doing. Before my knees can meet concrete I slap my hands to the ground and ease myself quickly down. Newt did the same, and is already crawling between the stubby legs of the creature before It even knows what is going on. Newt makes it through, and I start to follow when I feel a rough tug on my ankle. Sigh. Classic movie moment. But how did I know that?

The tentacle feels slimy on my skin, and yet extremely poky, like a thorn bush, as it starts to drag me backwards. I wince as the thorns dig in.

"Newt!" I yell, as I try to grab on to the ground, but my fingertips slip and create a bone chilling scratching noise, and offer no assistance.

Newt grabs a hold of my forearms and pulls. I smidge closer to him, but the creature must be a hundred times stronger. My body drags a foot back in to the dorm.

"COME ON DON'T . . BE . . A SHUCK," Newt says breathily as he struggles to keep a sweaty grip on me. "YOU CAN'T DIE NOW"

I could have laughed. But instead I focused on the task at hand. I looked around me: Newt in front of me, Monster tentacle behind me. And, and, and-Aha! Above me. I glance up grudgingly.

"Yup!" I say, "It's a boy!"

Newt grimaces but endures.

Without moments thought I untangle myself from Newt, which he doesn't do quietly or without protest, and take hold of my stake. With a hearty thrust, the stake goes up and pricks the creature's lower body.

With a howl, the arm lets free my ankle and I scramble out from underneath the monster and right in to Newt.

We tumble backwards like conjoined twins before Newt grabs a hold of the hall wall across from the dorm and steadies us.

"How in the world did he get through here?" I muse, as we detangle ourselves and survey the empty hall that consists of withering gray slabs and dirty footprints and crates containing The Maze knows what.

"Don't know," Newt replies. "But I am pretty sure we are about to find out."

The creature makes way to turn his entire body in such a small doorway. The walls shake as its arms whack both sides of the wall and cause it to crumple a bit. My teeth chatter, but the rest of me remains still, already adjusting to the quaking.

I look each way down the hall. To my dismay, they look exactly the same: dirty, well used, and worst of all, void.

Where are all the adults? I don't know, but it is obvious that we are on our own now.

"See any way out?" Newt mumbles, his eyes never leaving the creature as it struggles to extract itself and pop out right in to them.

"That way," I say evasively, and I extend both arms out in either direction.

Newt punches me in the arm. "Okay well-"

"Look out!" I bellow.

The creature puts its head down and begins to race forward. Right at us.

Out of instinct Newt lunges to the right and I to the left, away from each other to avoid bumping heads.

I slam in to the ground on my shoulder and pain shoots up my arm and to the top of my back. I clutch at it, hoping the pain will subside quickly so that I can jump up and fight.

Dust obscures my vision so I can hardly see debris cascading down like a waterfall, let alone whether or not Newt is fine. And I can't find the giant creature, which I find to be extremely unnerving.

"Thomas?" His voice echoes ominously in the hall. He sounds okay, though choking a bit.

"N-newt?" I cough out, as pale dust lodges itself in my throat.

"Where'd it go?" He asks shakily.

"I dunno, but it hasn't squashed us yet."

I force myself in to a wobbly sitting position. And then I make myself stand up. My foot is beginning to ache and I have a slight limp to my walk.

I squint in to the dust, searching for Newt.

Slowly, the daze starts to fade and settle to the floor.

I stare ahead of me, searching for Newt with an arm shielding my arms from the excess dirt and rock.

His figure melts in to form in front of me, but his body is facing the wall, not me.

"Thomas," he whispers in astonishment, as he, luckily, twists my good arm so that I face the same direction.

My mouth falls open. "Huh," I say. "Well, at least we know how he travels."

In the wall stood a large gaping hole the size of a car standing up on its bumper. And not too far away stood three more, each descending further in to darkness.

"Follow him?" I ask.

"Follow him," Newt agrees.

We climbed through the hole and disappeared in to the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this is so delayed and kinda poorly written, but here!

Chapter 3

"UHG," Newt gags dramatically, as he side steps to avoid a pile of crushed rubble. "Little bugger stinks like hell even out of sight."

"Careful," I smirk. "You're beginning to sound like Draco Malfoy."

Newt pauses mid hike to give me a blank stare. "Who?" He asks.

I look to the ground and pretend to intently study a piece of pale slate littering the hall floor before us. Where had _that _come from? "Nothing," I mumble, hoping to avoid awkward confrontation, as I step past Newt, over the concrete, and continue through the fourth hole in a hall wall we have encountered thus far. "Must not have seen a lot of movies where you come from."

"Well, anyway," Newt continues with a flourish of his bedpost: left diagonal, right diagonal, left again, right again. "When we find this thing, let's hope this is all the fart he has in him. I don't want to poke its eyes out to find a toxic fart wafting in my face. What a pathetic death."

"I don't think these are farts," I say distractedly, as I eye Newt's weapon as it swishes around in front of him. My fingers curl and uncurl, as if expecting my stake to suddenly appear in my hands. But no, I know better. I had left it to the lower half of the creature, and either, Maze forbid it, it was still up there, or the wood had clattered to the dorm ground. Either way, it was somewhere where I was not. Now all I had were my hands. And lots and lots of little pieces of stone.

After another monster-made hole, I couldn't take it anymore. My hands felt empty. So I bent down to snatch a hold of a pebble. The rough edges poked at my callusing skin, but I twirled the stone around and around in my palm anyway. The constant motion was soothing as Newt and I trudged forward in to darkness for what felt like forever.

"How did he get so far?" I wonder aloud, avoiding a particularly pointy pile of rocks by side stepping on to my achy foot. The tentacle marks in my jeans look like puncture holes from a needle, I worry. Is acid slowly eating me up inside? I have no idea. But I guess I will find out soon.

Newt shrugs, offering no suggestions to my question.

"Should we keep following him?" I offer. "What if it's a trap? And what about the rest of the-"

"If we don't get him now, he'll just come back later shuck. Better get him when the trail is hot, the sight of us is fresh, and then we can see if he'll lead us somewhere of interest rather than stay up, constantly in anticipation, until we're dead tired and get everyone eaten."

"Good that," I appease with knitted brows.

We continue forward in silence after that. The halls no longer run simply horizontally, but vertically now as well, and I can't help but feel the edges of the walls creep in like a trash compactor. I have no idea where we are, no idea what this building is . . I feel like we are trapped in a labyrinth that wills us to move forward towards nowhere. Judging by the size and the lack of complexity in architecture, I could barely guess we were in a decorated warehouse, but who knows? Maybe this place just appears huge due to the limited center of The Maze. And maybe the real world is more different from my memories than I would like to believe.

"Hey, Thomas," Newt says, as he halts a few steps in front of me.

"Ya?" I grunt, half lost in thought. I bump shoulders with him and pause mid step over a lump of debris.

I make way to kick the roadblock out of the path, but as my foot comes in to contact with the object, instead of meeting crumbs and rough stone, I find that my foot is sinking forward instead of pushing. I look down, but I don't convey as much surprise as I should have at the sight of a women's body sprawled awkwardly on the ground. My foot retracts backwards, and I avoid turning her arm in to a paddy.

"That," Newt sighs, as he nods his head to the not-breathing human in front of us.

I couch down to examine her. She has wide, open, blue eyes, soft as a flower petal. Her hair is mangled, but just as dark brown as Theresa's. I gulp, and shove down the feeling of foreboding that threatens my instincts. Suddenly I want to hug Theresa to my chest and protect her from the world. I hope she's okay, crouched low with the other Gladers. But I am not too concerned, considering she is capable of kicking all of their asses. My heart thuds heavily in my chest a moment, as I imagine Theresa garbed in Glader gear, showing up all of the other guys. A smile begins to take over my face. But I quickly shove the thing down and pause.

Whoa. Where did _that _come from? I think, hiding my blush with a cough.

I shake my head in denial as I straighten back up. Newt, beside me, unsuspecting of my thoughts, nudges his toe in to the dead woman's shoulder, as if she might wake, causing her body to limply lift and fall no longer than a half second. She doesn't wake, as expected. We both sigh, as if we had known the poor fool. Maybe in our real lives, for all we know, we had. The thought is heavy on the back of our heads.

"Sad days we live in," Newt remarks grimly, studying the stale creature half-heartedly. The rest of his heart focuses on the pile of pebbles that lay like a modest grave stone alongside the corpses head. He nudges the pile with his toe, causing it to avalanche into a lake.

I can only nod, and gulp, and observe. My stomach has dropped a thousand floors, and my ankle has begun to throb a bit more aggressively now, causing me to remain silent. That, and the fact that, no matter how many people I have seen dead, the sight continues to be as gruesome and melancholy as ever. What if she had been my mom? Or my teacher? Hell I have no idea! The thought frustrates me beyond repair, and I kick the nearest chunk of slab, which is idiotic considering it is my hurt foot.

Lost memories forgotten, I hop back in retaliation to the sudden shock of pain. Newt watches me as I walk it off in circles. He doesn't laugh like he would have if we hadn't just treaded upon a dead person. That alone discerns me among other things. We have hit rock bottom, and we all know it. Heh, unintentional pun.

Once the almost numbing feeling subsides from my foot, I compose myself and say, "Hopefully things won't be so sad in the end," knowing it won't help. Newt doesn't answer immediately, but just stands like a priest condoning a neighbor's funeral. His eyes are distant, lost in the lives we have already lost perhaps. Alby, I'm sure.

A pain of my own surfaces and I have to cling to the wall for a moment as Chuck's chubby, innocent face surges forward in my mind. Tears threaten to spill over as I take in a ragged breath, but I shake my head violently as if I can rid myself of this crippling emotion. Newt notices me, but doesn't make way to comfort me. I am grateful. Instead, he makes way towards the next gaping hole as I ride out my momentary collapse.

One foot in front of the other, Newt steps over the chunks of stone and continues forward, knowing I will follow when I am ready. Only a minute has passed, but I take in a deep, watery breath and straighten my spine. I stare at Newt's back as it slowly, steadily glides onward, to steady my own body and soul.

There are a handful of terrified kids in hiding right now, I remind myself. And they are waiting for the "leaders" to come back. I can't afford to break now. Not after everything we have been through. With that thought in mind, I begin to jog to catch up to Newt, who, among everyone else, probably knows exactly what I am feeling.

"That's all we can do," Newt says softly, as I slow to a brisk walk right behind him.

I look to Newt questioning, though he can't see my face. However, my silence answers for me.

His eyes steadily meet mine as he pauses mid step and says, "hope." Without waiting for a reaction, he moves further on ahead of me.

I fall in to step beside him, though every step feels heavy as doubt drags our legs down. Hope. Feels kinda like a made up fairy tale now a day.

"Okay," Newt begins irritably, changing the subject, and the air of the confining walls, with a simple word. "We've been following this shuck head for too long." He is on about as much lack of sleep as me, I can tell not just from deductive reasoning, but also from the way his legs wobbled beneath him, his body swaying in time. But, wait, I pause in confusion. Why is my hand shaking in tune as well?

"Where did it g-" Newt continued, oblivious, but the quaking that began this whole twilight escapade stopped him.

"I guess that answers my next statement," Newt muses.

We hold on to the ground with our feet the best we can, and ride out the monsters footfalls until they subside. I peer in to the belly of the building, past a couple more stone gouges in the walls, searching for anything, and, to my bewilderment, find anything.

"There," I tell Newt, as I beckon with my non-dominant hand towards what appears to be the end of the makeshift pathway. Newt's eyes eagerly find where I am pointing, and not too long after his feet follow just as eagerly. He passes me by, his weapon taunt and ready in both hands, poking out before Newt like a javelin pole, violent and unyielding.

"Left or right?" Newt questions, as we stop before the thick, concrete wall that stands before us as if guarding what lay behind. I glance behind us, finding the straight path of rubble we had taken to get to this fork. Three, Four, five… I count. _Six stormed-in walls we have walked through_ I note. _But why turn here? _I can't much care, other than remember how far Newt and I have come so we can get back to the others. Newt bends his back to look deep left and right; on and on and on in to dark corridors we look. At some point the silvery walls are engulfed by shadows and become nothing but unknown. Well, Newt's guess is as good as mine.

"Left," I spit out randomly, hoping to save time if I am right, but dreading the idea of being wrong.

"Yeh. Yeh that's what I was going to say," Newt agrees. Relief eases a bit of my growing anxiety, but still, not enough to reassure me that we are doing the correct thing.

Together we begin our trek through the left hall. There is only silence, save the sound of each footstep clanging clumsily between the walls. There is only Newt and I, as we walk forward, anticipating another shudder. There is only hope.


	4. Chapter 4

_Theresa?_ I think again, this time more urgently. I had to know that she was okay, that all of the Gladers were okay; that we didn't leave them all to die. But I don't let Newt know that I am communicating with her, or at least trying to. Instead we continue left, tiring our already tired limbs and minds.

_Theresa?! _I try once more, after a further moment of silence.

Still no immediate reply. I let out a quiet sigh in antsy frustration.

Sweat begins to bead across my forehead, and I know that its not because I am winded from the flat hike.

"Ey," Newt says to me, as his feet step in time with my own. We have fallen into a rhythmic stroll at this point.

"Mm?" Is all I reply. I keep my eyes leveled on the crumbled ground, hoping not to find any more bodies like that young woman.

"Let's get to that shiny thing down there and then turn back." He points loosely to a small, rectangular looking piece of metal on the wall about fifty yards away.

I nod. "Right."

"We can only go so far without this being a stupid goose chase."

"Agreed." So far that's all this felt, like a stupid goose chase, but with large, lethal, metal geese instead of fluffy birds of nature.

_Thomas!_ A pretty voice exclaims suddenly in my mind. I nearly topple over in surprise but instead regain my balance and cough to cover it up.

Newt gives me a funny look. "You okay?"

"Ya," I reply with a last, dry cough for good measure. "Just kicked up some dust is all."

Appeased, Newt looks forward once more.

_ Thomas? _Theresa beckons.

_Theresa, Hey, are you okay? Are the Gladers okay?_ I think to her urgently, giving a sideways glance to Newt who seems oblivious to the minute conversation.

_Ya. We're okay. Still in hiding. You?_

_ Still looking for the thing. _

_ Sounds like a super villain. _

_ Smells like a sewer_

Briefly, I hear her giggle in my mind, and I swear almost that I can feel it too; light, loving, and beautiful. And then Theresa brings me back to reality.

_So what are we going to do now?_

_ I- _I start reassuringly, but having no plan myself I confess with an inward sigh, _I don't know_.

_Well I_ do _know that we can't stay here, _Theresa comments honestly. _And that wherever we do go, we need to find food, water, and a place to sleep longer than a few hours or else-_

_We're dead_, I finish for her.

_ Yup. And we don't need that type of inconvenience in our already inconvenienced lives. _

I chuckle. If only dying were a mere inconvenience.

It isn't until Newt grunts, "huh?" that I realize I chuckled out loud.

"Oh," I say, slightly flustered. "Nothing. Was just thinking.. about the Draco character again."

"Oh," is all Newt says at first. And then, after a couple more paces, he asks, "you say this guy is from a movie?"

"Mhm," I reply.

"Is it a good movie?"

I am struck by the simply question. Combing a hand through my hair I shrug and say, "honestly, I don't remember. Or at least the thought is not longer in my memory."

Newt nods in understanding. "Ya," he says. "Seems like how most everything is."

"Except for some of the basics," I concede.

"Why do you say that?" He kicks at a rock, obviously becoming somber at our misplaced thoughts, our misplaced lives.

"Because of the little things. Things like remembering to hide between doorframes during an earthquake, random movie characters, just stuff like that."

Newt's face lights up as if he has had a revelation. "You know what shuck," he starts, but I do not get to know what exactly because, as Newt and I walk the last few steps to the silver piece of metal on the wall, we realize that it is anything but a simple piece of metal, and Newt's revelation is momentarily forgotten.

"Oh shi-" Newt begins.

"RUN!" I shout, as the small strip of silver begins to blink red.

And as we spring back the way we had come, clouds of dust and sharp rocks jumping up from our feet and attacking us, I realize we have witnessed another ingrained memory still in our consciousness: what a bomb looks like.

We had been close to death before, Newt and I, but the fear that causes limbs to shake and hearts to pound in chests furiously continues to haunt you no matter the amount of times you've been sliced, punched, falling, suffocating, whatever.

I still have the distinct desire to run and run until I can no longer function properly, until I reach another place far away from here that involves video games and beanbag chairs and food galore, but I have to resist such a desire of the seemingly impossible. Instead I have to keep fighting, I need to shove Newt and I into the nearest hole in the wall as the incessant, shrill beeps grow faster.

Beep BeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEP!

And then: a deafening noise too deep to resonate in my mind, my head explodes into an ache deeper than if someone had inserted a hot knife into it; a sickening tasumani of dust surfs up my nose, my mouth, my eyes, coats everything connected to and around me; bright streaks of yellow and red lick at the fog determinedly, heating up the suddenly confined space with its efforts.

_THOMAS?!_ Theresa shouts in my mind, but I don't have the mental capacity to reply.

_THOMAS? We heard something. Was that you? Are you and Newt okay? Please respond!_

Everything appears hazy and twisted. Everything twists around and around in long, tantalizing circles. The sight was almost beautiful if not for the stomach turning it was causing in the process. I had the need to upchuck everything I had taking in, ever.

"N-Net-" I choke out, unable to use my words fully. My mouth is too dry for that. I try to peer into the growing plumes of but I cannot find Newt anywhere. I have lost him, and I begin to lose myself as well. I can no longer differentiate the difference between up and down, the definition of forward and backward; I feel as if I have been thrown into hell. Perhaps I deserve it.

Flashes of forced memory dominate my foggy thoughts; memories of Theresa and I partaking in The Maze, choosing openly to condemn the other Gladers to their possible deaths. Why had I done that? How large was the part I had decidedly taken in this whole thing? Fear and guilt engulf me like the smoke does.

_Thomas? Please, answer me, please. _Her voice sounds distant now.

I can feel the flames snaking closer, toasting my body, but my limbs are already far too fatigued to move. I am stuck on the floor, coughing, choking on my lungs as they tear my throat apart. I am goner I start to accept. Finally dead after everything that has happened. _Thom-_ and then Theresa's voice sounds no more.

It's kind of sad what impending death can do to someone. Fully alive I had been pretty optimistic, determined, and sort of ready to get things done regardless of the consequences. But now, choking on myself, feeling my eyes burn my vision into nothingness, feeling my innards shriveling beyond revitalization, death seems inevitable. And I no longer can fight the inevitable.

So, watching the flames dance in the shadows once moment more, I feel my eyes close calmly, and I hear Theresa no more. I see light no more.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

Blackness. Chill. Musk: A blackness that I can wander through forever; a chill that freezes all emotions; a musk that reminds me of forgotten times well forgotten. And then I fall beneath the black, the chill, and the musk once more, smoothly into nothingness.

When I wake up a thought crushing headache greets me without pause. The kind of pestering stab that isn't made by a single, long imaginary sword but a bunch of tiny recently sharpened imaginary knives. Which means two things: 1) that every part of my head hurts, including my neck, my eyes, and my ears, which I didn't know was possible, and 2) that I'm alive.

I will my eyelids to jerk open but, after having been blown to the floor by a deceptively small bomb, my muscles seem to have forgotten what the phrase, " get up to speed" means. So, instead of hoisting myself up and getting down to business, I spend about two minutes training my eyelids to lift open and close without hesitating or feeling like the world sat on them. Great.

I will them open and closed one more time, making sure the last test wasn't a lucky fluke, and then I allow myself to focus on the world around me. I was so caught up with regaining my sight that I don't realize until now that I'm struggling to breathe.

I suck in a wheezy breath, attempting to fill my lungs with air but instead I feel mysterious bits of sharp concrete fill my mouth and glide down my throat like kids with spiky shoes gliding down a park slide. I attempt to cough out the unwelcome materials but having forgotten that I had previously coughed out my lungs during the explosion, a gut wrenching pain in my throat halts me mid attempt, and I feel, sickeningly, the pieces of debris settle into me.

Trying not to breath too deeply, I choke for the longest moment of my life, my throat closing in on itself, the edges of my vision a sparkly personification of the tingling I feel in my limbs. I seek to stretch myself out, to allow more room for my body to intake oxygen but I find that I can't move more than an inch in any direction before skin meets cold and unsympathetic rock. Panic flits across my face, electrocutes my spine. I muffle a garbled, "shit", and that only makes me feel like I'm like being sucked dry of air even more. I need to breath! But if I do I'll inhale more rocks, and then I'll cough and choke again, and be back right where I don't want to be.

_ But_ _I_ _can't take it any longer, I'm going to pass out, _I think in frustration. And that won't do me any good. Gasping, my mouth involuntarily wide, I suck in another set of dust only to try to cough back out. Which hurts like, I would say, a hell of a lot worse than a slice by a Griever. I'm sure I will take that statement back later, but considering that I currently find myself stuck between large slabs of broken concrete, tented in as if I built myself a Tepee just for kicks, I give myself a no-shits-given pass.

Knowing I don't have long before the lack of oxygen kills me, I make way to kick furiously at my prison walls, hoping to push one out of the way for an escape route. But, as I will my legs to unwind themselves and push, I find that only my left leg will move. My right, unsuspectingly, lies stuck beneath a medium sized rock. And I begin to feel the dull pain on my shin as I stare at it dumbly. Disregarding my bum leg, I lift my left leg up to the most accessible slice of concrete, and I pound into with all my might. The grey monster doesn't move the slightest. And, after a couple more attempts, I find that the action of kicking only makes me tired and want more air. Not to mention the fact that every time I did kick, the impact of foot to rock sent uncomfortable vibrations up my legs and made them ache. Basically every part of me is either aching or fatigued.

Letting my leg slip off of the rock and onto the ground in dismay, I try to remain calm as I still myself. I can barely breathe, my right leg lies partially beneath a probably twenty pound or more rock, and my vision is beginning to seem a little blurry. _Cool, okay,_ I think to myself. _I can do this._ _Nothing worse than what I had to face at The Maze._ And, actually pondering all the things The Gladers and I had accomplished at The Maze, my heart slows just a bit and my labored breathing becomes more sustainable.

Looking around I try map out all possible ways out of this. Okay, I've got this. Though, at first glance, and to my dismay, I don't think of anything. So I go back to lamely kicking at the nearest rock, more out of boredom and helplessness than anything.

And then I remember that I hadn't been alone. Newt's face flashes across my bleary mind. _Where is he? _I wonder. _Is he okay?_

In a hoarse yelp I call out, "Newt! Hey! NEWT!"

No response, only silence and the occasional clink of distant metal on metal.

"NEWT!" I try again. And then again. And again. And then once more just for kicks. But Newt makes no reply.

I start to worry about him. But worrying about Newt will do nothing for him or me right now. I need to get myself out first, and then I can search for him. But how?

And then, of course, a voice so beautiful I kiss it- er, her- er- I blush furiously, but forget my embarrassment when the voice repeats itself in my mind.

_ Thomas…_Theresa says weakly.

_ Theresa! _I reply, rather too enthusiastically. My panic eases out of me like a balloon let loose of its helium. Thank goodness we can hear each other, weird as it is. Useful as hell.

Even before she speaks I feel as if I am watching her perk up. And then she says, her voice laced with part relief, part stern scolding, _Thomas where have you been? I've been trying to contact you for an hour. I was just about to give up after this last attempt but you've finally answered. Are you all right? What was that noise we heard it sounded like a- _

_ Bomb, _I finished._ Ya. _

_ A-A bomb?! But who put it there? And why? How did they know you guys would come down that corridor? What happened to the sewer creature? _

_ The monster? _I ventured._ I don't know where it went, I don't know if it did this, and I don't know why it would if it did. To knock us down, thin out the Gladers maybe? Or to collapse the building, maybe there are more of these explosives hanging around. _Oh boy. _Theresa maybe you guys should get out of there-_

_ And go where?_

I paused, unsure. _Good point. Just, I guess, check for little suspicious pieces of metal with red blinking lights will ya? Make sure the area is safe?_

_ Ya of course. Of course I will. _She disappears for a moment, leaving me in an almost peaceful silence. I guess she's searching the room, that, or asking Gladers to help.

_ Thomas they wouldn't kill you, not yet anyway, _Theresa says out of the blue, startling me. I wince as my rock-smashed leg jerks.

_ Gee, that's reassuring much, _I say through clenched teeth._ Then why would they put a bomb out in the open for me, or you, to get blown up by?_

_ I don't know Thomas. I really don't know. Maybe they're starting to realize we're not as important as they thought. We're just as expendable as anyone else. _

_ Why are we important in the first place? _I ask, not expecting an answer. And I don't get one.

Instead Theresa asks, _where are you?_

I glance around me, as if my gravely environment could give me a clue. _Well,_ I start. _Down a blown up hallway trapped beneath some rocks. Would you mind-_

_ On it. _

Theresa's body knows what the phrase, "up to speed" means. In a matter of minutes I hear multiple muffled footsteps nearing me.

And then I hear Theresa's voice, but this time not in my head. "Thomas?" She calls.

I poke my face into a tiny opening and attempt to shout. "Hey! Theresa! Over here!"

She seems to hear me, and, with two Gladers trailing behind her rather nervously, she walks in my direction.

"How did you know he was here?" Peter, one of the younger Gladers, asks as they near me.

I hear Theresa reply, "I heard the noise, followed to where it sounded like the explosion had gone off, and then guessed which way to go."

I snicker_. _Really I had given her directions as she mentally described to me where she was walking.

"Thomas?" Suddenly her voice is next to me.

"Hey," I reply. "Just hanging around."

Peter and the other Glader chuckle uneasily.

"Let's get these rocks out of the way," Theresa orders.

"Might I mention," I suggest rather briskly, before they start pushing and pulling. "That one of these rocks is on my leg. And it hurts. Like, a lot."

"Ya…" Theresa replies uncertainty. "Sure."

Twenty minutes, lots of swearing, and four pairs of bruised and callused hands, mine included, later, we dislodged two of the crap ton of rocks that tunneled me in. Luckily, two was all I needed to slip out. With the help of Peter and Theresa, I rather painfully maneuver my way into fresh out. I don't hold back as I take in deep breath after deep breath.

"Thanks," I wheeze, with one of my hands on my knee and my back hunched over. I lean against a rock for support; the other hand keeping me up, considering my left leg is pretty horribly messed up. It throbs annoyingly as if it knows it's a nuisance. This is going to be a set back.

"You okay?" Theresa asks worriedly, staring me down as if her gaze could heal, which, at this point, for all I know, it can.

"I'll be okay," I say. I might need help getting back to the room though."

Theresa glances at the other Glader, James I think is his name, who nods, then both make way to start going.

"Wait," I say. They pause confused. "I was with Newt." The new comers exchange concerned glances. "I don't know where he is. We need to look for him before something else finds him or he ends up suffocating via rocky enclosure." To the ground I add, "I don't know if he's as okay as I am."

Peter and James make their way together up and down the isle of broken wall from where they had come without a second thought. Newt had been there for the Gladers like no one else had. I'm not surprised by their loyalty to him. I would do anything for Newt, and I know Newt would do the same.

Theresa and I, slowly but surely, walk/hobble past where I had been rescued. Theresa has to hold me up by the armpit because I can't sustain my weight on one foot and travel all at once. And, as much as that sucks, we continue forward anyway.

As we go, I push aside every possible piece of rickety rock as Theresa kicks at the bigger ones, but after what feels like an hour, no Newt. Not even the simplest trace of him. No clothes, scuff marks, no shouts, no blood. Its as if I imagined him being beside me.

"It's getting late," Theresa, says regrettably, looking at me as if I am going to protest. "And you haven't eaten all day, none of us have. We need to recoup back at the room."

I sigh, knowing she's right but wanting to not give on Newt. I look down the long expanse of corridor we haven't searched, though unaffected by the bomb, it homed many nooks and crannies. Perhaps Newt is just down the way, if we only go a little farther. "I can't leave him. What if-"

"You're pale as the moon, Thomas," she interrupts earnestly. "And Peter and James even before I asked them to come with me were curled up in their beds, exhausted and frail. We need to take care of ourselves. Make a plan. And then we can search for Newt. We can't risk four lives, maybe even more, for one. I know that sounds harsh but-"

It's my turn to interrupt her. "No," I say. "I know."

Both of us are quiet as we reconnect with Peter and James. Theresa, more exhausted at having to partially carry me than she let on, succeeds the job to Peter, who takes my armpit and my elbow without complaint. I give him an, "I'm sorry" look, but he only smiles grimly and helps me walk forward.

Theresa enters the room first. Slowly I follow behind her, with Pete on my right side holding me by the armpit so I don't topple over. He sets me down on the nearest bed. James enters behind us.

I look up at Pete and say, "thanks" rather awkwardly. He nods mutely and saunters off to his bunk. I smile grimly at James and he shrugs and walks away as well.

"I couldn't find Newt," I confess to Theresa after a quiet moment, as if she didn't already know. She stood beside me, leaning against the bed loosely.

She looks down at me gravely. Reaching a comforting hand out to touch my arm she replies determinedly, "we'll find him Thomas. Don't worry."

"Or he'll find us," I half joke. Theresa smiles but doesn't say another word. I look out the doorway nearby to where the Sewer had walked in on us. That's the name that seems to be going around. The Sewer. I worry about Newt running into that thing, but if anyone could find his (or her) way home, it was him.

Home. The word strikes me roughly. I glance around the room precariously, noticing each individual Glader and the possible stories they hold. Some stand side by side, huddled together discussing The Sewer. Others sit on beds, clinging to the blankets, weapons, or each other. A few are walking about, scavenging for things that had been jumbled during the attack.

_We are each other's home, for now, _I think oddly. All of us are alone, so we live alone together. Hopefully things will stay that way.

I get the sense that I'm being watched, and I turn back to see Theresa looking at me. Her eyes are droopy with sadness, but despite all that has happened, I can still see a dominating bit of light in them.

"Hey," I say quietly.

"What are you thinking," she asks, and I realize suddenly just how close we are to one another. Her elbow brushes my forearm as she shifts her weight from one foot to the next and I have to warn myself not to link arms with her.

I think about bringing up to her that we're all we have left, but putting it that way the idea sounds rather depressing. So instead I say, "how to get out of here and survive," because, while having walked through the walls with Newt not too long ago, I had been trying to think of a way out, for all of us.

"And?" She presses, her eyes lighting more so now than before. My stomach leaps, knowing I had caused that. I brush the feeling aside, I have more important things to deal with.

"Uh," I begin smartly. "Well, it involves all the weapons we can possible make and all of course blankets."


End file.
